


Dazed and Confused

by Goldragon (thebookhunter), ledbythreads



Series: So long ago and out of sight [7]
Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: (uuuh mention of smoking weed and boozing), August 1968, M/M, Pangbourne, SO, The Boathouse, ah shit i'm in love, baby golden god was already A World Of Trouble for the Prince of Cool, been wanting to write this since like idk november 2019?, channel the goddess that's what kids are calling it these days, finally eh?, he was a stranger there inside Jimmy's promised land, here we are now, i thank Susan Fast for a decent portion of all that waffling, jimmy as the Holy Whore of Babylon is A Thought in my mind I can't get out now, jimmy's plans meet the baby lion of the last days, jimmy's waffling was really fun to write, light? seen. revelation? revealed. the truth? a heavy but joyous burden, oh jimmy, playing with that pair of gorgeous barbies a little, so long ago and out of sight, takes three times for a story, that turned him inside out and turned him upside down, their fields were plenty filled with clover, then I read Led's stuff and the barbies became Soul dolls and, twas fifty-two years ago old loves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/Goldragon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledbythreads/pseuds/ledbythreads
Summary: "I'd originally thought of getting Terry Reid in as lead singer and second guitarist but he had just signed with Mickie Most as a solo artist in a quirk of fate. He suggested I get in touch with Robert Plant, who was then in a band called Hobbstweedle. When I auditioned him and heard him sing, I immediately thought there must be something wrong with him personality-wise or that he had to be impossible to work with, because I just could not understand why, after he told me he'd been singing for a few years already, he hadn't become a big name yet. So I had him down to my place for a little while, just to sort of check him out, and we got along great. No problems."And the rest, as they say, is history.So, dazed, yes. Confused? Not for long. (Or for the rest of their lives.)
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Series: So long ago and out of sight [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700926
Comments: 22
Kudos: 26





	Dazed and Confused

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ledbythreads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledbythreads/gifts), [TimWilson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimWilson/gifts).



> This is the fic I started writing Jimbert for. This is the Ultimate Slash Moment I was interested in. It practically wrote itself. That's what I thought.
> 
> But then I stumbled across a certain crown which I hear time conspired to steal (not mine, it was just lying there, singing), and I started rolling downhill. Down the Jimbert rabbit hole I went, passed Morocco and the Welsh border a few times along the way. Seasons turned, the world changed once again (and again, and again) and here I am now, shining in the light and dancing upon the sea and singing of everlasting love myself. 
> 
> And after all that rolling and tumbling, I'm finally here, where I started. It didn't quite write itself, I have to say.

“It’s sort of like sex.”

Young Robert Plant, twenty years old in a couple of days, crossed-legged on the pale fluffy expensive carpet, stares up with wide unblinking eyes at Jimmy Page, enthroned on his flowery-patterned settee. 

Fuzzy brained. Weed and booze and an angel-faced guitar magician exposing his theory of rock and the kind of music he wants to make. Such a quiet man, until he’s not. 

Robert loves to hear him talk. Jimmy's been around for ages, traveled the world, he knows everyone, he’s worked with everyone. He drops names here and there. With some he's dismissive, with others he's all candor and deference. Such a young face, seems unlikely he's lived so much and can still look so boyish, even childish when he's excited. He _is_ young, it's not like he has a portrait in the attic ageing for him and carrying his sins and his excesses. (Though Robert wouldn't be that surprised to learn that he has.)

Robert knows enough to appreciate how much Jimmy knows. When he talks about music, he lights up. Talks with his hands a lot. Clever, clever hands, graceful. Robert sits there and listens raptly and absorbs, absorbs, absorbs.

The guitar leaning on the settee by Jimmy’s long, long legs (those funny tiny pointy black and white shoes he wears.) He can't wait for Jimmy to pick it up again. Demonstrate, illustrate, floor him absolutely, flat on his back, gasping. How does he do it, how is it even possible. All Robert can think of is _do it again, do it again, do that riff again_ . He’d never heard anything like it before. He says, “this is something I’ve been working on” and proceeds to ascend to a different bloody dimension of sound. Oh, it makes Robert weak at the knees. Those long fingers working fast and certain at the neck strings. Fuck _me_ , how the hell does he do it? The sounds he gets out of that guitar! Wild and weird at times, other times more on this side of traditional, but always so expressive, so full of emotion. He’s bloody great, he’s genius, a virtuoso, a technical wizard, but he’s got soul on his fingertips besides. He’s a true artist, he is. Better than Clapton. Better than Jeff Beck. He's just on his own league. He sounds like no-one else, like nothing else that's been before. He sounds like the future.

He asks Jimmy to play for him all the time _._ For his own pleasure and the privilege, and because he can tell Jimmy's flattered. His posture changes, the way he holds himself. He's perfectly self-assured and in control when he plays, he projects a certain kind of energy. It's impressive. It's. It's sexy. - Hell, guitar players are sexy, that's nothing new. Rock music is sexy. Jimmy Page at the guitar is as sexy as it gets. Robert sinks into it and lets the music sway him to and fro and side to side and he gets it, oh he gets it alright, when Jimmy talks about turning the audience on and making them feel things and excite them and thrill them and music is like sex like making love and sometimes you like it rough and sometimes you like it slow and sweet but it has to grip you and it has to get under your skin and shake you up and turn you on, it has to affect you, and here’s Robert hearing him talk in a haze of musical lust, drawn to Jimmy Page like a horny moth to a dazzling light.

They started off awkward and skittish around each other. The moment he crossed Jimmy's threshold, Robert started wondering what the hell was he doing in that house, and who the hell had a stranger he's only met for a few minutes staying over just to find out if they click. 

He was bracing for a cringy period of mutual adjustment, but they fell in together the moment they started talking music. They listen to the same stuff, they vibe with the same stuff. Very soon he finds out that Jimmy Page is shy, not aloof, and awkward, not stiff, and though he remains reserved in lots of ways, and cautious (Robert prefers 'mysterious' and he bets Jimmy does too), there are moments when it truly feels almost as if they’d known each other all their lives. Or like they were… Hell, like they were meant for each other. Meant to find each other. They just gel so well. It’s like, like some sort of miracle, and they stare at each other sometimes with this sort of-of dazed recognition. The feeling of. Of being _seen_. Being known. Connecting. It’s quite intense. And the fact that it goes both ways. Oh, it's like being high, like being drunk, and nothing like it. It's being intensely there with someone, in each other's orbits; they're drawn to each other, deeply, fundamentally compatible, aching to merge, to fuse, filling each other's empty spaces, sliding into each other like a key in a lock, clicking. Unlocking something. What.

Maybe they’ll look back and talk about these days and say ‘it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship’ or somesuch, but that’s not quite it. Jimmy is not his friend, that’s not what this is. Not how it feels. Not quite. Robert has lots of friends, he should know. So what is he? A guide, perhaps, a master, one who knows more and is willing to impart his knowledge to a younger one who wishes to learn. 

But it's not quite that either, or that's not all. This attraction, so intense, it’s a bit like follower and guru, almost like-like worship. Robert _believes_ in Jimmy, he believes in his talent and his vision and his guidance, but Robert is not looking for a guru, and he doesn’t want any. That's not what it is. That's not it.

Neither does Jimmy claim to have achieved any kind of Higher Plane of Consciousness, and certainly no Nirvana beyond feeling and emotion. Oh no, quite the opposite. Like Robert, he believes in experience as a source of knowledge. Negating the senses, trying to achieve a state beyond emotions, is the exact opposite of what we’re in this world for. Jimmy’s a seeker, just like him. Where they're going, the place Jimmy wants to take Robert to, it's very earthly and very tangible. A quest for glory and love and gold.

Jimmy's got it all planned out. He’s thought this through. What he’s looking for. He learned a lot with the Yardbirds, he says, about the business side of things. He knows what he wants, and what he doesn't want. His ideas are solid and clear, the sound, the composition, the whole getup. He’s putting together a super-band and, fantastically, impossibly, he wants Robert in it. Little old him! How did this happen? - Oh, one side of Robert doesn't wonder at all. One side of him just says, _about bloody time._ One side of him knows he belongs here. It’s the side of him that carries him on stage and takes over. _Of course_ a musical genius such as Jimmy Page would see it, recognise it, realise all that Robert has to give. This side of him has always known he had something. - But doesn't everyone believe they're special? (And that would be the side of him that actually sat down and considered perhaps he should listen to his pa.) 

Oh, to be chosen, to be called. Summoned. Validated. At times it takes some pinching; it's like some deity above is playing a prank - Everything Robert's ever wanted. Where's the catch? Sometimes he feels he’s actually dreaming and when he wakes up he’ll be up in Birmingham again singing to a disinterested audience of a dozen who think he’s trying too hard.

Jimmy doesn’t think he’s trying too hard. Jimmy said, _“_ this is exactly what I want.”

Jimmy says a lot of things. When he gets going there’s no stopping him.

“Essentially the band and the audience are making love, you see; the music stimulates them and they respond, and one is stimulated in return. It’s rather like-like sex. There’s a seduction and a buildup and there’s a climax, or many. In every song, and throughout the whole show. To make love well, one teases, one modulates the intensity, one ought to create a connection, a dialogue. Call and response. Both the audience and the music must feed off the intensity of the other and seek a strong, intense reaction. That’s true for all good music but what I want, you see, is for that to be patent and clear. I want us to be bold with it, with the sexuality and the power in music. It has to be an experience, a real thrill. The perfect frontman ought to embody all that intensity and that power. One must really throw oneself at it. One must not be shy about it. That’s what rather caught my eye about you. It really gets to you, doesn’t it? You let it get to you. You’re very real. It’s not for show. Not a pantomime like Jagger. You seem so present in your body when you sing, and it really shows. It comes through. It’s very raw. It’s quite intimate too, I think, almost as if you were- as if you invited the public into your bedroom. Or even like, well, like you put it all out there, like an animal, so open, so… unselfconscious. It’s rather shocking, in a way, but it’s not shock for shock’s sake, it’s genuine, it’s spontaneous. It’s very compelling. Very powerful.”

Robert does not think there is any need - or possibility -for a contribution from his side at this point. And apparently neither does Jimmy. Which is fortunate, because Robert’s mouth is quite dry.

“The frontman ought to lead the experience, guide the audience through it. He ought to be assertive, projecting this sort of virile energy, be boldly sexual, unapologetically so. Explicitly, even. I believe you already have a bit of that. When you start moving to the music, your reaction is so exuberant, so-so sensual, just one look at you and people are already in the right frame of mind. One look at you and people are thinking, _sex_. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”

Robert gapes like a dead fish. Is that a rhetorical or a trick question, Jimmy Page?

“Musicians work with instruments, tools, they use skill and technique and experience and knowledge, but a vocalist is the body of the music. The flesh of it. You’re the body in which the union of audience and music is consummated. And I want to see that consummation, feel this consummation in your voice and expressed through your body. I don’t want someone who stands there all smug and cool looking down at the audience. Music is sex, and it’s power, a powerful means to create emotion, to create energy, to create a different state of being, beyond reason. I’m thinking rather of the Dyonisiac cults, which sought a state of frenzy, a state of ecstasy, as a way to communicate with the divine; or even the figure of the sacred whore in ancient Babylon, who served the goddess by offering their body in the temple to whoever desired it. The frontman I am looking for ought to channel that frenzied, ecstatic energy, and show the audience how to interact with the music. They're going to worship you, but not from a distance. You're going to take that worship in you, let it get to you. It’s a transcendent act, admitting this energy within oneself. I don't need you to lead, I don’t want you in control, or projecting control. I want you losing it. I want you to react to the music and the lust of the audience, and I want you undone, I want you horny and ravished by the music, I want all that pure sexual energy visibly running through you…”

Blimey.

“And there's this sort of raw quality in your voice, like a roar, like-like a primal scream, something emerging to the light for the first time, fresh and new, virginal in a way, but fertile, and ripe, already full of soul and hunger and lust. There is nothing sterile about your voice and your performance. The way you move, like you’re being possessed, like the music has got a hold of you and it’s making you _feel_ , and you surrender to it, you just give into it. And that’s what I’m looking for, that’s what I want."

(Jimmy Page, I have a hard-on.)

“And I think we can take this concept so much further, do you know what I mean? Explore this intensely, explicitly sexual dimension through your singing and your performance. The interaction of the vocals and the music could be made to communicate explicitly this kind of energy. Just, put it all out there. Shake it all up. In a way it's going back to a more primitive way of interacting with the music, more authentic, wilder. Back to this state of ecstatic frenzy I was talking about, outside of reason and the rational, in touch with kind of transcendence that's intensely real and earthly and bodily and all the more sublime for it..."

Jimmy Page you have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, and whenever I make it happen I feel it between my legs.

“It’s a ritual, it’s energy, it’s communication beyond words… It’s holy. It’s physical but it’s transcendent… through experience, the search for a higher reality, a more subtle form of knowledge…” 

Jimmy Page you look like an angel from an old painting, don’t ask me by who, I never went to school. 

“Not just songs, not just sounds, but a rite, an initiation… receiving as well as giving… giving to the music, giving to the audience, but receiving from them too…”

Jimmy Page, you can be uncertain on your feet like you’ve only just found your legs or gracious like flowing water. Your hand dances when you speak. I’m mesmerised.

“The guitar has always had phallic associations… heightened energy from the audience… Rock music is so sexual. The blues… Even the beat is like fucking…"

Jimmy Page I can’t stop staring at your mouth.

“Music bypasses the mind and grabs you by the groin. It’s a very primitive, very elemental emotion. It’s universal, it’s natural... People are already predisposed…”

Jimmy Page you blush the loveliest shade of pink when you get excited.

“The energy of the musicians on stage, their power, the sonic assault even... overwhelm the audience, empty their minds and fill them up with something alien to reason, something instinctive, something animal… The full surrender of the audience, their submission… Like some sort of ancient rite… an orgy of thousands, and you’re the priest, the catalyst…”

Jimmy Page, when you put your hands on that magic stringed staff of yours and you play for me, you know what you’re doing to me, and you don’t stop it. You stare at me right in the eye and you see it, you _must_ see it, surely, how can you not? I can’t keep it in, I can’t hold back. I don't want to. And you see me, you stare right at me, and you _keep going._ Jimmy Page, what does that mean?

  
  


*

  
  


Jimmy likes to think he knows perfectly well what he’s doing. 

  
  


_“What does he look like?” —_ he asked Terry Reid when he first mentioned this chap from Birmingham. They were going to need more than a good voice for the kind of thing he had in mind. Art is great and all, but if the business side of it is not working you won't be doing it for long. Jimmy wants to do this forever. Ultimately, you’re selling a product. Good-looking frontmen sell more records.

_“What do you mean, what does he look like? He looks like a Greek God, but what matters is, he can really sing.”_

Well, they would have to see about that.

  
  


Jimmy saw, alright. He heard. He _felt_. He was seized by the kind of realisation one associates with religious revelations. Among so many false prophets, the real deal. The anointed one. The one who truly carries the fire.

Where the hell had this kid been all this time? Where had they been hiding him? 

Like a Greek god? Not quite, no. Rather like one of the vandals who sacked Rome. And he sounds like one. He sings like he’s actually in the act of ravishing the city. A thousand-year-old, sophisticated, decadent civilization, and this kid is the young blood come to burn and pillage it. Bend the proud empress down, put her on her knees. Take her. The Romans worshipped a god of thunder and lightning, but this kid _is_ the thunder and lightning. Oh, when he’s done with you, there’ll be nothing left standing. All will surrender to his might and his beauty and his roar.

Oh, do it again. Wail like that for me again. Raw and rough and wild and new. Singing from the gut, from the groin. Feeling it. Shaking it. So much power. Untapped. Unknown. Unseen.

Unseen.

They cloaked you. They must have. They hid you from everyone else. They saved you for me. They brought you to me. They took all the others away so I could find you. 

I _have_ found you. I _see_ you. Oh, my vandal, my raider, my barbarian, we are going to raze this place to the ground, set the world on fire. We'll rise above the destruction like gods and rule this new kingdom we have created.

I'll take you there. The Promised Land. I’ve seen it. It’s going to be ours. Look at it, beyond the horizon. Lend me your barbaric yawp and I will take you there.

But first I will take you here.

He’s ready, look at him. That reverence, that lack of ego - willing to listen, to learn, to defer, willing to follow. Eager. That lack of definition, even. It’s not what you were looking for, but It’s exactly what you need. He doesn’t know yet who he is. You’ll guide him. He’ll find himself, through you. - Give me more of _this_. Give me more of _you_. From this place _here_ , between your navel and your crotch. From right here, between your legs. Let it all out, bring it here, _give me._

He looks younger than he is when he stares at you like this. A boy. A boy used from early on to girls swooning and tripping on their feet for him to catch them. The charm and the cheek and the smirk. But when he looks at you like this, he’s golden and new and he knows nothing and that’s just alright with him. He’s happy to sit here at your feet for your words and your thoughts to fill him up. Shape him. Teach him. 

And Jimmy wants to teach him. Oh, does he ever. But he has always been cautious about this sort of thing. Would be stupid not to. Jimmy is not stupid.

Oh, Robert’s wide eyes like that, fixed, glazed, dark. They dip from Jimmy’s eyes to his mouth. He’s leaning towards Jimmy, his whole body. Jimmy is sure. Almost sure. But until you do it, you don’t really know. It could be a complete disaster. No taking it back, no fixing it. He’s got his frontman. This could spoil it all. It’s not sensible at all, really. He can hear G. as if he was here right now- _it’s bad for business. You have better sense than that. Don’t be an idiot, Jimmy._

Music is business but it’s not all business, G. The music wants what it wants, it takes what it takes. _Kismet_. Sometimes you have to go with your gut.

When I say gut.

He knows what they will do. He’s got it all planned out. He’ll take him by the hand. He’ll lead him to his bed. He’ll lay himself down to receive him. He’ll take him in and seal the covenant. He’s sure now, this is the way. Completely possess him, make him his own. His wildling, his thunderer. _You’ll give me all you’ve got and I will hold you wholly. Holy. This is the way._

You don’t know until you know. You kiss him.

*

  
  


Jimmy is quiet, his expression grave. He’s biting his lip and looking serious and almost solemn, his stare focused, urging him on. Spurring him. Faster. Harder.

Not that Robert needs it. He’s going at it like a beast of the wild, slamming himself home, shaking up the whole bed. Jimmy, oh, so slim and white and limber and gorgeous and god his mouth. Dreamy eyes turned fierce. His nails like tiny daggers in Robert’s arse. And though he looks intense and by all means hot and bothered, he’s so fucking _poised_ and Robert just. He wants him to. He wants him to. _Jimmy, oh, I want to see you ruined._

Normally Robert’s gentle, Robert’s soft, Robert always tries to be careful and thoughtful. But Jimmy has no use for any of that. Urges you on, spurs you on, bites his lip and fucks up to meet you, grabs your arse and marks the beat. He plays you. Wants to hear you. When you get louder you see it in his eyes, yes, yes, this is what he wants, this is how he wants you. 

Oh, you want to please him more than anything. 

He lets you kiss him but he keeps you at a distance. Even inside him he keeps you at arm’s length. Even inside him you’re still a stranger to be wary of. 

You want to give him what he needs. Whatever that is. Give him what he needs to break him open. You want to _see_ him. You want to feel him hot and eager under your body. _Let go, Jimmy, come out of there, come to me._

You don’t know how to do that. You don’t know what the hell he needs. You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing at all. This is an angel in this bed. How to please an angel. So beautiful, he throws his head back and the arch of his throat takes your breath away. You almost don’t dare put your mouth on it, like flower petals you can easily mangle. - Fuck, you want that. Streak that pale skin with pink, with your mouth. Mangled rose petals in your mouth.

Oh Jimmy let me… let me slow down. I won’t last like this Jimmy. Let me go slower and. I’ll do you good. I can do you good. Just let me… - He urges you on, spurs you on, he doesn’t want you slow, he wants you to do him like an animal. Oh Jimmy, oh. How to please an angel. 

That frown he has on. Focused. You managed to make him break a sweat, you managed to put a blush on his cheeks that's now spilling over his chest. He's breathing hard. But that's it. And you’re falling to pieces, you’re falling apart. You want to give him what he needs but you don’t know how so you give him what he asks. So you pound him into the mattress and you don’t stop until it’s done.

He took you, he had you, you’re dizzy, you don’t know what happened just. You don’t know what happened. — _Did you come? Were you even there? What the hell was that? What’s this about, Jimmy Page?_

You watch him get up and stride elegantly away from bed. He reaches for a purple robe with big cream-colored flowers, flowy and light. Lush. Must be real silk. Fit for a prince. For a courtesan. Laying yourself down for me like. Like a holy whore in a Babylonian temple. Bloomin’ gorgeous, you are. Cor, what the hell just happened. 

The way he stared you down after you kissed for the first time. Here was a challenge. Did I meet it? Fuck me backwards, Jimmy Page, you exacting chaos of a man.

So what happens now?

When he comes back to bed the robe brushes your thigh. Smooth and cold. So soft. Soft as your skin. Soft as your hair. Soft as your mouth. - Gosh, how I want your mouth, Pagey. (As if he’d heard you, he does that small, irresistible pout.) Oh god I want it everywhere. I want it everywhere on me. Will you give it to me?

Clean up first.

You return naked and horny and his eyes lower demurely and oh dear lord Jimmy Page you’ll be the death of me. My cock already filling up for you, getting thick. Look at it, Jimmy.

He looks, alright. Makes you shudder deep. If you let that robe fall carelessly off your shoulder Jimmy Page I can’t answer for my actions. Jimmy Page playing the ingenue, I will ravish you right there in your purple robe.

Long, long thighs. My, but how lovely you are. He traps you between his knees, makes you stand there. 

Oh, oh lord. Grips your hips and. Soft, light lips on your belly, the groove of your hip, between your thigh and your crotch. His hand between your thighs, cupping you. _Ah._ You’re holding your breath. Tread your fingers in his hair, gently tip his head back. _Look at me, Jimmy._

With his eyes fixed on yours he takes you in his mouth.

 _God_. He’s got you raging hard again in a blink, and your own knees shaking, your thighs. Oh Jimmy, oh Jimmy, oh Jimmy. Stand there trembling, as still as you can, shy stroking your hands in his hair, am I allowed? Oh Jimmy, oh Jimmy. His tongue, oh. Oh, _this. This_. Don’t, don’t stop it. Oh Jimmy. Push your hair away from his face. Oh I can’t see you Jimmy, want to see you. Please let me see your face as you blow me.

Pull him away and kiss him tasting yourself and pulling both of you down and oh Jimmy please, Jimmy, guiding his head, gently, oh Jimmy, please, please, suck it…

On the bed, on your back, his head between your thighs; you're clutching the sheets, grabbing his hair… _(You like this don’t you. When I don’t hold back. Moaning like a. Well, channeling the experience.)_ Fuck, fuck. Oh Jimmy, oh Jimmy, oh Jimmy. Stares at you with fixed green eyes and licks you root to tip and watches you fall to bloody pieces. Teases you. _Modulating the experience._ Pick it up, bring it down, faster now, slower now, feather touch now, then sucking long and deep. He's fucking playing you like one of his bloody guitars. You’re sobbing. He’s loving it. That smirk right there just killed you and brought you back to life again, fuck. He hollows his cheeks around you and you’d fucking kill for him right now. You’d do anything he asked of you. He watches you dance to his tune. Piper. _Oh I’ll do whatever you ask, I’ll be whoever you want. but please don’t stop this._

He makes you come with his hand, paint your own chest, he traces a sign on your skin with your own come. When you ask him what the hell was that about, he just looks at you with that deadly smile, and licks you clean. You look on, speechless. Jimmy Page, who the hell are you. What the hell have you done to me, Jimmy Page.

  
  


Three times, it takes. Three times.

Riding me hard, god, your face as you work yourself on me. Throw your head back just because you know it leaves me breathless. Color on your cheeks, beads of sweat on your brow. Oh Jimmy, oh Jimmy. I’m losing my mind, I’m losing my mind. Angel face, beautiful boy nymph, my hands are dark and rough yours are white, long nails, long and deft, you’re not of this world Jimmy Page. When you crash down on me, fuck, your skinny arse, long, long thighs straining. Clear focus, fixed purpose - you want to bloody see me destroyed. And I am. I am. Jimmy Page your swan long neck your long-stem limbs Jimmy Page your beautiful face Jimmy Page your long black hair Jimmy Page Jimmy Page. He looks at you from those remote heights, like the bloody moon, he feels just as unreachable.

 _Come to me, Jimmy. Come to me._ You roll him over, get on top of him. He’s pliant. _What do you want. Take it._ \- Jimmy Page you give and give and give. What I want is to have you here with me. I want you as ruined by this as I am.

I put you on your hands and knees my chest on your back and I’m doing you hard and fast and you must be sore, are you sore? Am I hurting you, Pagey? I lose myself, I lose myself. Jimmy Page you’ve turned me into a bloody dog. Oh, give me your mouth. I bite and I grab your hair, twist your neck. Tongue-fucking you, where it’s warm and wet and living, you’re no angel there Jimmy Page. 

You must be tender, you must be sore, you bite your lip, am I being too rough, Pagey, god I can’t hold back, I can't help myself, I can’t help myself. You reach behind you to touch my face, it breaks me. I hold your hand, pull it under me, hold it behind your back. Slamming into you, almost tipping you off balance. Off balance, edge of a cliff. I see it then, oh, I see it, a crack, from where I’m sucking your nape to where I’m fucking you. Oh, there you are, beneath the porcelain shell, underneath Jimmy Page you’re a boy just like me and that’s your power. I dig my fingers in your scalp, I push you down. Chest on the sheets. You hand me your other arm. Oh, really? I hear it for the first time, a ragged moan. Oh lord, is this how it is? Heavens, my Pagey likes it rough. 

Oh Jimmy, oh Jimmy. You’re raw and you’re tender and I’m holding your hands now not your wrists and you’re clasping hard and you’re digging your fingers in mine, arse up in the air, blushing where my body clashes against yours again and again and again and you’re moaning helplessly, broken sobs, and I don’t know if it hurts does it hurt Pagey? Oh I’m too far gone and I’m losing my mind, I’m losing my mind, you’re absolutely here with me now and I’m losing my mind. I had no idea Pagey. I thought I did. Holding your hips now, ramming into you cutting your moans when I hit, and I’m gonna come inside you Pagey I’m gonna come again. 

Fuck, are you...? Fuck, you _are_ , you’re touching yourself, oh my sweet lord, you’re touching yourself, you’re whining like, like, oh lord you’re gonna come too. And I feel it beneath me, and I feel it around me, getting tight, so tight as you start to come just as I’m about to. Panting hard on your shoulder, you shake under my body, shit, you’re still coming. We shudder together and I kiss the last nub of your spine, skinny boy, Jimmy Page. I'm coming, I'm coming. Can you feel it inside? Can you? Jimmy I'm coming...

I go slow when I pull out of you but still you hiss. It breaks me. I turn you over, on your back, and I lie on top of you. You seem hazy, not quite so focused now, not quite so smug. Bit far away. Shaken. In my arms. Feel you breathe with my chest, feel you panting in my mouth. Jimmy Page, oh Jimmy. We kiss with our eyes closed. We kiss so sweetly. Every kiss a shy nudge - _You alright? You alright? Did I hurt you, baby?_

_(Yes I did. I don’t know how much yet._

_It always hurts when you break through. It has to. Crack you open. Forever tender there. I know where I broke you, and this is how I made you. You built me up, moulded me. Your sounds and your body. I am your creature, Jimmy Page. You dreamed of gods and monsters and that kid was both._

_I dreamed of an angel. Messenger, envoy. He who knows. He who brings the light._

_We found what we’d been looking for and then some. I had my dreams, I had my hopes, I had my wishes. I wanted the life, I never bargained for you.)_

  
  
  


Abandon our bed. Go be moonlight, Pagey.

You're out there on the deck, I watch you. Your silky robe and the smoke from your fag billowing, both swaying in the breeze like seaweed in the current. Rolling your shoulders. Did I hurt you, baby?

Jimmy Page, Jimmy Page, Jimmy Page. What did just happen, and what does it mean.

What do I call you now? Sweetheart, darling, baby, babe, love. Jimmy Page. Jimmy. Pagey. Jimmylove. What do I call you now? What are we now?

Oh, I don’t give a toss. Just, come back to bed.

*

  
  
  


Jimmy takes a long drag, his stare adrift. He's exhausted and throbbing and shaken up to the marrow of his bones.

Jimmy’s song then: _Make him mine, my own, possess him completely. Mind, body, spirit, will, all mine. He’ll be my vessel, my mouthpiece; through him, all things._ — That was before.

Jimmy’s song now: White noise. _Robert._

A little bit was alright. A little bit was expected. He’s very beautiful. He’s charming. A little bit couldn’t be helped.

But this. This was not what. This was not… 

Vertigo. Trepidation. A sharp plunge inside. His hands bloody trembling.

You wanted it holy. You wanted a covenant. Well, it is sealed. You bound him, but hadn’t you thought, fool, now you’re bound too. 

Who the hell is this kid. _What_ is he. 

And it shouldn’t feel like this. Like blossoming. Like hope. Shouldn't it be a chill down your spine? Oh, it’s got to be there somewhere, for sure, but also the most absurd notion that while you’re in his arms it will crash and burn. _It_ , not you.

The kid worships you. And the kid gets it. The kid gets you. The kid…

The boy gets you. Sees you. Understands. Understands you. Vibes with you. The boy and you, you vibe together. The more he listens the more you want to talk. Oh, you have so much you want to show him. So much you want to share.

You like the boy. He _likes_ you. In a portentous sort of way. In a terrible way. In a way that gives you shivers. The boy looks at you and he wants _in_. Deeper and deeper. The boy believes in you body mind and soul. The boy goes to your head. He goes to your head. You’re in love, you think. You can’t be sure yet. But that word — soulmate.

The boy is having a baby soon. The boy is getting married. 

He welcomes you like he’d been running out of air and, god, it goes to your head. He tumbles you on the sheets. Then he’s on top of you kissing you so slowly and cradling your face in his hands and. Robert, Robert... You stay still for the tender stroke of his lips on yours and the hot darting tongue when he presses on you and you’re in love, god help you, you love him. You’ve always loved him. You just didn’t know he’d been born.

You toss and struggle and you laugh, child’s play. His smile cuts you right open, his laughter warms you through. When he comes in your mouth you will swallow him down. He won’t know what it means and he doesn’t need to know.

He’s inside you in every way. You should be scared witless. Maybe you are. Maybe you are.

He holds you, he wraps himself around you, he warms you through. He warms you through.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Dear Leds, I'm sure you preferred the rough demo cut but I decided we needed the overdubs. This is the studio version. I felt that context, developing some aspects, spelling it out a little, added to the point I was trying to make. It was a pretty extraordinary thing and I suppose I wanted to belabour the point, which obviously you don't need because we live and breathe these beautiful disaster men and their shenanigans. I guess it's dulled the edge you liked about the early version, but I believe you will agree if nothing else that Jimmy's bullshit is a fun addition. 
> 
> The quote in the summary is an excerpt from "The trouser press" interview with Jimmy Page, 1977.
> 
> Production notes: funny how I have needed almost a whole year of my life (and fifty of theirs) to get to this point, when to actually write it I've had to shave off such a huge part of what I have learned all this time to try and leave only the bare essentials. I am writing their initial forms. The future had not happened yet. Their story lay all in front of them, still to be made. They had yet to become themselves. And because this is a celebration, I didn't want it ominous and brooding and loaded with all the things to come. 
> 
> So I had to take away all that I know and go back to basics, "unpick" the Jimmy and Robert I've come to know (or made up, whatever) and so in the end the end result perhaps is not so radically different from the fic I would have written all these months ago, when my knowledge and understanding of their mythology was so much more limited. (Hell, I didn't know about *The Crown* back then.)
> 
> What is different I think is the writing itself. The way I write these days is very different from the way I wrote back then. That's Leds' doing. 
> 
> It was Leds' voice in their fics that opened them up for me and dragged me into this, but mostly it's Led's writing that made me want to write them. It broke the narrow box I had made for myself, yeeted me off my comfort zone. - I want to write like Leds when I'm grown. With better or worse results, great things happen to me as I'm trying. 
> 
> So I put Leds down as co-author because this is your baby too, Leds. Not just because of the suggestions, guidance and encouragement on the previous drafts, but for all the time we've discussed these two and their story and their minds and hearts and their myth and their legend. (and also the best line in the whole thing Leds wrote: "Fuck me backwards, Jimmy Page, you exacting chaos of a man.")
> 
> ***Fun fact: I bought an official t-shirt for the Carry Fire tour. It has Robert's feather symbol at the front... and a fricking massive Fire Crown** on the back. Upturned. (Time didn't steal it, old man; it was worn out and it didn't sit good on you anymore, so you threw it away...) If that doesn't mean anything to you then god bless you. If you know what I mean then you know what I mean and I don't have to say more.
> 
> *Ai.* Being in love with Jimbert is the gift that keeps on giving. I wrote a Thorki Rock Stars AU and an Actors AU and it wasn't anywhere near as extra as these two. They're on a level of their own. So I shall carry my own Upturned Crown on my back like the Glorious and Joyous burden it is. Turns out, sometimes things that seem too good to be true (too wild too out there too unbelievable) are still true. Go figure.


End file.
